Tales Woven

We thought we were blessed and under the watch of God. Black Death left our village alone.

Passed over. No dead in the street. Not like towns. Corpses thrown on wagons, and rolled to mass graves. There no person was safe. Not priests, healers, nuns, children, peasants, lords, ladies, merchants.

Towns almost were deserted. Fields overgrown. No one to till and plant them. Livestock roaming wild with no pens to hold them. People living like beasts in the shells of villages and towns.

So we closed our gates to all. Not just strangers but those of ours coming back from the outside world.

Only allowed out to tend the fields and herds under the watchful eye of men chosen to be the village guards.

The village survived the Black Death by centuries not years. Closed gates. Closed doors. Closed minds.

They didn’t know the 21st century was whizzing by. They did not hear the sounds, see the changes to their fields. Incapable of viewing development, housing, factories, railroads and roads. Closed off from the outside world. A village of people stuck in time.

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tales woven

mindlovemisery’s menagerie

Richard Bach: Messiah’s Handbook: the Lost Book From Illusions

Your friends will know you better in the first minute you
meet than your acquaintances will know you in a
thousand years.
~*~*~*~*~
Everyone comes with a
Design-O-Life Personal Future Construction Kit.
Not everyone remembers where they put it.

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